


I Do?

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Just Married, Language, Marriage, Married Characters, Oral Sex, Past Domestic Violence, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rough Sex, Sensuality, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Waking Up Married, Wedding, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: After going out with your friends, you find yourself with a new accessory.





	1. I Do?

God, your head was pounding. Your mouth tasted like you went down on a sewage drain and your stomach was pitching around like a boat in the middle of a stormy sea. Rolling to your side, you used the side table for leverage and pushed up off the bed. Slowly. So slowly.

Rather than try and crack your eyes open, you shuffled across the room, hands held out in front of you, blindly finding your way to the bathroom. You were in dire need of a hot shower, your teeth needed to be brushed, and you definitely needed to gargle with a gallon of mouthwash. To start with.

The water pressure wasn’t great, but it helped ease the throbbing behind your eyes and in your temples. The hangover grime slowly started to started to wash down the drain, though everything still felt slightly shaky. As badly as you didn’t _want_ to eat, you were going to _need_ to. And maybe drink a cup of coffee. Or three. Oh, bacon sounded insanely good all of a sudden.

Only when the water ran cold did you emerge from the shower. You dried off, brushed your teeth and hair, and tugged on a pair of underwear and long shirt from your dresser before going into the kitchen. You started the coffee, moaning when the smell of it hit your nostrils. No matter how shitty you felt, coffee always helped.

While that percolated, you got to cooking up some bacon; thick-cut, hickory-smoked, just the way you liked it. It was when you reached for a mug to fill that you noticed something out of the ordinary, something that didn’t belong.

_What is that?_

It was a silver band on your left ring finger. You held your hand in front of your face and spun the ring around with your thumb, moving it up and down the length of your finger. With your brows furrowed, you tried to remember what happened last night, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t. One of the last things you could remember was having drinks with Clint, Wanda, and Steve.

The three of you had been sitting at the bar, throwing drinks back like there was no tomorrow, which right then, you wished there weren’t. Wanda and Steve, who had been dating for almost two years, were making heart eyes at one another, talking about getting married one day, soon.

And then? More drinks, some dancing, _more_ drinks, and then your memory started getting really fuzzy. You leaned back against the counter, the bacon and coffee forgotten, your attention turned to trying to piece together the remnants of last night.

You and Clint, dancing and drinking.

Clint’s hands on your hips and ass as he leaned in, murmuring… something.

A cab ride across town.

A friend of Clint’s talking to the two of you, asking questions that sounded far away.

The two of you kissing, _deeply_ after saying two little words.

 _Is it…? A_ **_wedding ring_**?

“I do.”

Oh, God. _It is_.

With your heart in your throat and your hands shaking for a completely different reason than being hungover, you turned off the burner and made your way into the bedroom. Even with blurry vision, you could make out the form of someone in your bed.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled.

You were standing by the edge of the bed, watching Clint as he slept. He was on his back, the sheet laid across his stomach and waist, his right leg sticking out. His left hand was pressed to his bare chest, the mid-day sun reflecting off the silver ring he had never worn before last night. You repeated your previous curse and drug a hand over your face.

You’d always wanted to marry the man of your dreams, and that had been Clint for the last five years, but not like this. You wanted it to be a day to remember, not a night to forget.

Clint stirred, a groan bubbling in his throat as he turned his head. His eyes fluttered open and you could see the wheels turning as they started focusing on you. Namely, your bare legs.

“Hey,” he croaked. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Um, yeah,” you huffed, absentmindedly playing with the ring. “About that, Clint.”

Clint sat up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he went. “I don’t… this ain’t my place?”

“No. No, it’s not,” was your answer. “It’s mine.”

“Why am I at your apartment?” Clint moved to stand, but he realized at that moment the only thing he was wearing was your microfiber sheet. “And why am I naked?”

You shifted nervously on your feet and cleared your throat. “Is… is that the _only_ thing you notice?”

Green eyes flicked up to yours, confusion settling heavily amidst the hangover. “I mean, you’re not wearing much more. Did we… I mean,” Clint motioned toward the bed, bottom lip between his teeth.

You were about to answer him honestly, that you didn’t know if you had sex, but you wouldn’t doubt it when his gaze locked on his finger like a fucking sonar. “Wait a goddamn minute.”

“You’re not the only one,” you scoffed, your left hand raised for him to see. “I think we got married last night.”

Clint scoffed and stared at you. “No. That’s not right.”

You couldn’t explain the way your heart dropped at the sight of him pushing out of bed, his head shaking, jaw tight as he hurriedly pulled on his clothes.

“Why is it so hard to believe?” you questioned him.

“Because, Y/N,” he ground out, shoving his arms into his shirt. “We wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

There were tears in your eyes that you quickly blinked away. “I… I mean, we _were_ pretty wasted last night.”

Clint swallowed thickly as his eyes met yours. “I’ll fix it. There’s no reason we have to let one drunken night wreck our friendship. It’s not like it meant anything.”

 _“I’ve wanted this,” Clint panted, his tongue and teeth on your skin, his body slotted perfectly between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to_ **_do_ ** _this for a while.”_

“Right,” you scoffed, unable to hold in the disappointment any longer. “Because that’s all it was to you, a drunken mistake.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled, shoving his feet into his boots.

You ran a hand through your hair before lifting the hem of your shirt, showing him the bruises he sucked onto your skin. “This doesn’t _look_ like it meant nothing.”

Clint pulled in a deep breath as he took in the sight. “Like you said, we were pretty wasted.” He didn’t sound so sure of himself.

The shirt feel from your hand at the same time tears spilled down your face. You wiped them away with a frustrated sigh. Another memory crashed over you and you had to bite back an appreciative moan despite the fact you were close to crying.

_“I love you,” Clint had moaned, his shoulders bowed, thighs spread, hips colliding with yours, hands roaming your curves, pulling you into him._

“Sure, yeah,” you agreed sardonically with a shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Clint moved to take a step closer, but you shook your head. He looked like he wanted to say something… _do_ something, but you couldn’t imagine what more he could say to make you feel even shittier.

“What do you want to do, huh?” he wanted to know. “An annulment is the only smart thing to do.”

“I don’t know, Clint,” you bit out. “But don’t you think that saying this was a mistake is a bit premature?”

He ran a hand over his face, groaning into his palm. “We can’t stay married,” he insisted.

“Why not?” you whispered. “Yeah, it’s not the most ideal situation, but you can’t tell me there’s nothing _here_.” You motioned at the space between you and held your breath.

Clint’s features softened only slightly, but then he shook his head. “We were drunk,” he said once again.

“That doesn’t mean what we said and did didn’t hold some weight of truth.” Emotion was creeping into your voice and you couldn’t keep it from shaking.

You wanted to wrap him in your arms and convince him that what had happened last night wasn’t _only_ because the two of you were drunk. If he hadn’t some sort of feelings toward you, he wouldn’t have grabbed your ass and kissed you on the dance floor, it wouldn’t have been his idea to get married, right?

“I have to go,” Clint said suddenly, his shoulders straightening. He turned and strode out of your room, yanking the cell phone from his pocket on the way.

You hated the way you sounded when you said, “Please, don’t,” as you followed him closely. “Stay, Clint. We can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he sighed, looking at you over his shoulder after opening the door. “It was a mistake, plain and simple. I’ll uh, I’ll let you know when I figure this out.” Without a second thought, he was gone, the door hitting the frame loudly.

You dropped onto the couch with a shuddering sigh and buried your face in your hands. In the span of sixteen hours, you’d gone out for a fun night with your best friends, you got drunk, married, and now, the love of your life - and husband, apparently - had just walked out on you. When had your life become so messed up?


	2. I Can't

[ ](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjs6pihir7gAhVEwYMKHdLPCvQQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fgfycat.com%2Fgifs%2Fsearch%2Frenner&psig=AOvVaw0vs1pN9enbSmDkAyfdHOzk&ust=1550331765885199)

Despite the pounding behind his eyes, Clint stirred, a groan bubbling in his throat as he turned his head. He was trying to piece together what had happened last night as his eyes worked open, but it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. There were only fragments, pieces that clashed together like pieces from different puzzles. When they landed on a set of  _ very _ long and bare legs, his heart stuttered in his chest. 

“Hey,” he croaked. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Um, yeah. About that, Clint.” It was Y/N, and she sounded extremely nervous. 

So as not to upset his stomach, Clint sat up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he went. “I don’t… this ain’t my place?”

“No. No, it’s not,” she answered almost bitterly. “It’s mine.”

“Why am I at your apartment?” It was at that moment, when he moved to stand, that he realized that the only thing he was wearing was a bedsheet. “And why am I naked?”

There was something cute about the way she shifted on her feet and cleared her throat before answering. “Is… is that the only thing you notice?”

_ What is she talking about? _

He settled his gaze on her, confusion quickly clearing away his raging hangover. “I mean, you’re not wearing much more. Did we… I mean,” his voice trailed off as he motioned toward the bed, the very unkempt bed.

Suddenly, he caught sight of something on his left hand and the roar of blood in his ears was deafening. A ring he’d never worn before circled his fourth finger.  “Wait a goddamn minute.” 

“You’re not the only one,” she scoffed, raising her left hand in front of her face. “I think we got married last night.”

He stared hard at her as his heart started hammering. “No. That’s not right.” Without a second thought, he pushed out of her bed, his head shaking, his jaw tight as he quickly got dressed. 

_ This can’t be happening. It’s a dream, that’s all. I’ll wake up in my own goddamn bed and everything will be fine. _

“Why is it so hard to believe?” she asked sadly, and he couldn’t explain why his stomach dropped. 

“Because, Y/N,” he ground out, shoving his arms into his shirt. “We wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

Maybe it was play of the sun on her face, but Clint swore he saw tears gathering in her eyes before she said, “I… I mean, we were pretty wasted last night.”

Ah, there it was, the  _ real  _ reason why Clint told her he wanted to marry her. Clint swallowed thickly as his eyes met hers. “I’ll fix it. There’s no reason we have to let one drunken night wreck our friendship. It’s not like it meant anything.” 

_ “I’ve wanted this,” Clint panted, his tongue and teeth on her skin, his body slotted perfectly between her thighs. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” _

The sudden image of them making love, admitting his deepest secret, making her cum on his fingers, made him stagger back a step. 

“Right,” she snapped. “Because that’s all it was to you, a drunken mistake.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled, shoving his feet into his boots. 

She ran a shaking hand through her hair before lifting the hem of her shirt, showing him the bruises he sucked onto her alabaster skin. “This doesn’t look like it meant nothing.”

Clint pulled in a deep breath as he took in the sight. “Like you said, we were pretty wasted.”

At the sight of tears sliding down her face, Clint’s heart stuttered. He had always hated seeing her cry, but when it was something he had done to hurt her, the sight was unbearable. 

_ Fuck, I can’t be here right now.  _

“Sure, yeah,” she agreed angrily, wrapping her arms around herself.

For whatever reason, Clint moved to take a step closer, but when she shook her head, he stopped in his tracks. He wanted to say something,  _ do _ something, but he didn’t know what. There wasn’t a magic wand he could wave to erase what had been done, what he had said. Or was there?

“What do you want to do, huh?” he wanted to know. “An annulment is the only smart thing to do.”

“I don’t know, Clint,” she bit out. “But don’t you think that saying this was a mistake is a bit premature?” 

He ran a hand over his face, groaning into his palm. “We can’t stay married,” he insisted. 

“Why not?” she rasped, on the verge of tears again. “Yeah, it’s not the most ideal situation, but you can’t tell me there’s nothing here.” She motioned at the space between the two of them and Clint had never wanted to march over and kiss her as badly as he did right then.

_ We can’t stay married because this isn’t how I wanted it to happen. _

Clint’s features softened only slightly, but then he shook his head. “We were drunk,” he said once again. 

“That doesn’t mean what we said and did didn’t hold some weight of truth.” Her voice was shaking and it only made Clint want to hold her that much more.

“I have to go,” Clint said suddenly, his resolve solidifying, his shoulders straightening. He turned and strode out of the room, yanking the cell phone from his pocket on the way. There were several missed calls from Steve and one voicemail he’d listen to when he could think straight.

“Please, don’t,” she begged as she followed him. “Stay, Clint. We can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he sighed, looking at her over his shoulder after opening the door. “It was a mistake, plain and simple. I’ll uh, I’ll let you know when I figure this out.” Without a second thought, he was gone, the door hitting the frame loudly. 

 

The first thing Clint did when he got to his apartment was throw back a bottle of beer. Then another, and another. It  _ had _ to be a dream, or some kind of cruel joke; there was no way he and Y/N were married. Couldn’t be. 

The silver band on his left ring finger indicated otherwise. 

_ Shit! _

He and Y/N had been friends for five years, and from the first time they met, he’d been smitten. She was smart and sassy, funny and compassionate, sincere and affectionate, but she was out of his league. Clint didn’t deserve someone like her, so he shoved his feelings to the side and put on a hell of a game face. Until last night, apparently.

Clint wasn’t exactly sure why he felt the need to get blackout drunk, taking Y/N along for the ride, but he did. And as if getting married wasn’t bad enough, they’d had sex, multiple times. He wasn’t mad at himself for not being able to remember everything, no. He was pissed because he had taken advantage of her, the woman that he was going to admit his feelings to one day. 

_ Fucking loser _ . 

He scraped a hand over his face, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked down at his hand. He’d definitely be lying if he said he didn’t like the way it looked, the symbol of his affection toward Y/N, but it wasn’t  _ right _ , the way it happened. They weren’t supposed to get drunk and knock down the door of his friend, demanding they get married. They were supposed to date,  _ really _ get to know one another, get engaged, set the date, things like that. 

Shattered glass skittered across the floor after Clint hurled the bottle across the room. “Fucked that up, didn’t ya, Barton?”

Just as he moved to clean up the mess, someone knocked on the door. Clint’s heart leapt into his throat. Was it Y/N? 

“I know you’re there, Clint,” Steve declared, pouding on the door.

“It’s open, Rogers,” Clint called out, crossing the room to grab a towel and broom. 

The door swung open and slammed closed a moment later. “You want to tell me why Wanda sent me this?” It was an extremely pissed off text message, no details given about the reason why, but Wanda wanted to kick Clint’s ass. 

He shrugged one shoulder before dropping to his knees to clean up the mess. “Dunno.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, man,” Steve ground out. “What’d you do?”

Clint shook his head as he went to work, narrowly avoiding a cut to his palm. “I’m an idiot, but that’s nothing new.”

Steve glared at his friend. “What. Did. You. Do?” 

“We got married last night, Y/N and I,” he finally admitted after several long minutes or not meeting his friend’s intense gaze. 

“What?” Steve roared, hands balling into fists at his sides. 

Clint threw away the sodden, glass-filled towel. “I got her wasted, told her we should get married, fucked her, and left her.” The words didn’t come out as sarcastically as he wanted them to. 

Before either one of them knew what happened, Clint was on his ass, and his lip was split wide open. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” Steve seethed, towering over Clint. 

“Yeah, I know that,” Clint grumbled, rubbing his jaw as he stood. “Don’t worry, I’m getting an annulment. It was a mistake, and she knows that.” 

Clint was on his ass again, the other side of his face bright red from Steve’s fist.

“The  _ fuck _ , man?!” Clint sputtered, blood joining the remaining beer on the floor. 

“Stay down, Clint, or I’ll  _ really _ kick your ass,” Steve threatened his friend, his chest heaving. 

Clint rolled his eyes but didn’t try and stand up again. “It’s the right thing to do, Steve.”

“How can it be the right thing when you love her?” Steve asked, the rage draining from his voice. 

He sighed heavily before answering. “She deserves better, Steve. Besides, it would help tremendously if she loved me back, which she doesn’t, so… easy peasy.” 

Steve’s shoulders sagged before he offered Clint a hand up. “God, you’re dense,” was what he said as he grabbed two beers from the fridge, cracked them open, and handed Clint one. 

“I don’t have Stark’s IQ, but I’m not completely brain-dead,” he chuckled after taking a drink. 

“ _ Nobody _ has Stark’s IQ,” Steve scoffed. “You really want to stand by that statement?”

Clint stared at his feet. “I mean, I probably drank off about forty points.”

“The woman’s been in love with you for five years,” Steve sighed, spilling the one secret he’d been sworn to keep. 

“No, don’t,” Clint ground out, chin quivering, eyes falling closed. “Don’t tell me that. I… I can’t…”

Steve gripped Clint’s shoulder tight. “Talk to her, tell her how  _ you _ feel, and stop acting like a fuckin’ jackass. It’s not too late to fix this.”

“You don’t understand,” he argued softly. “I told her it was a mistake, that being married would ruin our friendship.”

Steve blew out a breath and took a long pull of beer. “And if you don’t talk to her, your entire relationship with her is  _ fucked _ .” 

Clint let out a shuddering sigh. It was going to hurt like hell, but he knew what he had to do. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” Steve said with a small smile. “Hey, sorry about the uh,” he pointed to the bruises on Clint’s face. 

“Nah, man, it’s all good. I deserved it,” Clint chuckled nervously. “Look, Steve, I uh, I’m still pretty hungover. Unless you wanted to kick my ass some more, I’d like to get some shut eye.”

Steve quickly finished his beer and tossed it into the recycling bin. “No worries man, I think the message got across.” 

“Message received, I’ll talk to Y/N tomorrow,” he said with a tight smile. 

“Catch you later, man,” Steve said before leaving. 

Clint waited until the door was shut and Steve’s footsteps faded away before pulling out his phone and calling the friend that officiated the wedding. 

“Hey, Bruce,” he sighed. “Look, I uh, I need your help.” 

“Sure, man,” Bruce quickly agreed. “What do you need?”

Clint took a long drink and cleared his throat before answering. “I need the marriage annulled.” 


	3. I Won't

[ ](http://38.media.tumblr.com/2dd8a3343a5a28316ef21892c1a676c6/tumblr_n65dw76kLE1sp9f4bo5_500.gif)

Three days had crept by since discovering you and Clint got married during a drunken night. It had been his idea, though you were  _ happy _ to oblige, as was evident on the video you had watched earlier. Besides the pair of you, Steve, Wanda, and Bruce - who had officiated the ceremony - knew about the nuptials, and if Clint had it his way, nobody else would find out. 

“Just sign them.” The words heaved out of him as if it took some great effort. 

“No,” you said, sterner than before, hands curling into fists at your sides. 

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose after slamming the annulment papers onto the table. “Jesus, we’ve been  _ over _ this.”

“And I keep telling you, we don’t have to do this.” 

“You’re acting like a child,” he chastised you, eyes riddled with frustration.

You glared hard at him. “You’re not acting any better. Clint, you won’t even talk to me unless it’s to try and get me to sign those stupid papers.”

“What do you want from me, huh?” he scoffed, hand diving through his hair. 

“To tell me the truth! Why do you want to get this marriage annulled?” You were trying to so hard not to cry, but you and Clint had been going back-and-forth for almost two hours. 

Clint rolled his eyes hard. “It was a mistake,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time. “We were drunk and didn’t know what we were doing.”

“See, I call bullshit,” you snapped. “If we didn’t have some sort of feelings toward one another, you wouldn’t have asked me to marry you and I wouldn’t have said yes.”

With a shake of his head, Clint propped his hands on his hips. “You’re one of my closest friends, Y/N,” he started, his tone growing tight and irritated. “But you gotta work with me here. I… I need you to sign them. That’s it.”

There was something else he wanted to say. You don’t know  _ how _ you knew, you just did. 

You crossed your arms and shook your head. “No. You’re lying to me, Clint, and friends don’t lie.”

“You got that from Stranger Things,” he snorted bemusedly.

“And? It’s the fucking truth,” you snapped. “If I really am one of your closest friends like you proclaim, then act like you’re  _ my _ closest friend. Talk. To. Me.”

“You want the truth? Fine,” Clint ground out, shoulders twitching. “I don’t want to be married to you because I don’t think of you like  _ that _ . You’re more like my little sister than anything else.”

Shaking your head did little to keep the tears from falling. “Stop lying. If you really felt that way, you wouldn’t have kissed me, and you sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to get married.”

“Did you know that I’m taking Fentanyl?” 

The seemingly out-of-the-blue question made you take a step back. “Wha- what, why?”

“Remember last year when I hurt my shoulder at work? Well, it’s a lot worse than I’ve let on,” he divulged. “I shouldn’t have been drinking the other night. Alcohol and Fentanyl don’t mix well, obviously.” 

Confusion doused the fire of frustration in your gut. “You’re telling me that we got married, that  _ you _ asked me to marry you because of a drug reaction?” you scoffed painfully hard. 

“Yeah,” he grunted. He pressed a hand to the papers and slid them closer to you. “Please, just sign them.”

God, you were tired of fighting with him. It didn’t help you hadn’t slept more than three hours at a time since waking up married. You ran a hand over your face and into your hair, let out a shuddering sigh as your chin started to quiver. You didn’t want to do it, sign the papers, but you were so beaten down and Clint wouldn’t  _ actually _ talk to you. 

“Fine, you win,” you mumbled, gripping the pen tight in your hand. It shook as you scribbled your name on the designated lines, finally clattering against the countertop at the last swirly letter of your name. 

With tears in your eyes you glared at him. “Happy now?” you demanded to know, arms crossed to keep from punching him. 

“Thank you,” Clint said, his voice as tight as the smile he gave. He took the pen and signed his name just as you had done. 

You let out a pissed off huff and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, whatever, Clint.”

He looked at you with sad eyes and it pissed you off even more. “Look, I hope this won’t change anything betwee-”

A harsh laugh erupted out of you, one that had you bent at the waist and crying. Jesus, you were going to fucking kill him if he didn’t shut up. 

“Fuck you,” you ground out when you calmed down enough to say something. “I need my key back before you leave.”

Clint looked at you as if you had grown another head and murmured your name. “What? Why?”

“Because, this… relationship is done. I can’t be friends with you anymore,” you snarled in explanation. 

“No, don’t say that,” he pleaded, daring to take a step closer. “You don’t mean it.”

You retreated two steps and shook your head. “You have no idea what I mean, Clint. And even if you did, what just happened proved to me that you don’t care.”

“I do,” he insisted. “I care.”

“No, you don’t,” you argued, head shaking, hand slapping against your thigh as it dropped. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for three days. You’ve sent all my calls to voicemail, ignored all my texts, and now… God, I don’t even know who you are anymore. You… you used to be able to talk to me.”

Clint shrugged, reached into his pocket, and tugged out his keys, quickly detaching your key from the ring. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

You glared at him as he set the key on the counter before grabbing the annulment paperwork. “And to think that I actually fell in love with you.” You stormed across the room and ripped open the door. “Get out and don’t come back.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he murmured as he walked across the threshold. 

With a sob trapped in your throat and your heart jack-hammering against your ribs, you slammed the door. You don’t know how you did it, but only when Clint’s footsteps faded did you break down. You dropped to your knees and covered your face as you cried. 

How had your life come to this?

Clint handed the papers over to Bruce without saying a word, turning down Bruce’s offer to stay for a drink with a shake of his head. He didn’t feel like being inside of his own body at the moment, let alone hanging out with a friend. Though he could use a drink. Preferably something strong. 

He stopped at the liquor store on his way home, grabbing two bottles of scotch after looking only at their alcohol content, not the price. Less than a block away, he opened a bottle and started drinking. God, if he could bathe in the stuff and get rid of the way he felt, that would be amazing. He had done some stupid shit over the course of his life, but lying to Y/N about how he felt, hurting her like that, it made him want to jump off the nearest bridge. He absolutely hated himself. 

By the time he stumbled into his apartment, the first bottle was almost empty and his vision was blurry. He stumbled as he kicked off his shoes, so he pressed his palm flat against the wall, groaning as the floor shifted under his feet. He was going to be so sick later. Good. He deserved it. 

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he chastised himself, shuffling across his apartment, the full bottle of scotch bumping his thigh. He tossed the empty one in the general vicinity of the garbage, wincing as it bounced on the linoleum flooring. 

Clint dropped onto the couch with a grunt, his head falling back, eyes closed to keep the room from spinning. Maybe he could drink himself to death. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Because, if he was dead, then he wouldn’t feel like utter garbage, he wouldn’t loathe himself, and he certainly wouldn’t be wanting to crawl over to Y/N, profusely apologize, and tell her the truth. 

He scraped a hand over his face, groaning loudly into his palm. She said she had fallen in love with him. Shit. He wanted so badly to tell her the truth, that he was in love with her, too, that he had been lying about the Fentanyl. Yes, he had taken it when he originally injured himself, but he hadn’t touched the stuff in over eight months. He was desperate and told her the first thing he could think of rather than admitting his own goddamn feelings. 

“She deserves better,” he snorted. “Not some gutless moron.” 

After several more long pulls of scotch, his eyes started to cross and sleep was beckoning him. He tried to stay awake by turning on the television, but the swirling colors and sound made him nauseous. The television flickered as it powered down and Clint yanked the phone from his pocket, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb. He somehow managed to send a text message to the woman he had just been married to before he passed out. 


	4. I'm What?

[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/ba3c7ac0035f2eb6bb1091ec0ecd5c0c/tumblr_phbde2fG681uwl6nzo1_540.gif)

 

After crying on the floor for over an hour, you pushed off the floor and ran into the bathroom where you emptied your stomach of its meager contents. You’d had too little sleep, too much stress, too little food to eat, and you were overthinking things way too much.

With a grimace, you turned on the shower, literally crawled into it - yes, with your clothes on - and sat in the corner where you cried some more. God, were you ever going to stop? Probably not, but all of the things Clint had said to you - mainly the part where he only wanted to marry you because he was higher than a fucking kite - hurt. His words cut like a knife, carving into the bone and marrow, nicking up your soul. 

When the water started to run cold, you turned it off and shed your clothes, leaving them on the shower floor. A towel skimmed over your body before you wrapped it around your hair and brushed your teeth. You cringed at your reflection. Dark circles under your eyes, blotchy skin, and sunken cheeks from not eating. No wonder he wouldn’t look you in the eyes, you were hideous. 

Strolling through the apartment naked, you locked the door and picked up your cell where there were a handful of missed texts and calls from Wanda, none of which you listened to or read. Once inside your room, you glared at the bed you had shared with Clint. The sheets had been stripped off and yet, you were tempted to light the mattress and box spring on fire. Overreacting much? Probably, but the man you loved with your entire being announced that every act of intimacy had been a mistake. 

A wave of exhaustion plowed into you so, you plugged the charger into your phone and fell onto the bed, falling into a fitful sleep almost instantly. 

The text notification for your phone started sounding, yanking you from a dream that was quickly becoming a nightmare. There was an immense pressure behind your eyes the moment you rolled over, and it made you cry out. Shit, it had been a while since you’ve had a migraine. It made your already empty stomach roll and your vision go blurry. 

It was a series of texts from Clint and each of them were like a punch to the gut.

_ I never meant to hurt you. _

_ I fell in love with you, too. _

_ I don’t know what to do. _

_ I’m sorry for everything. _

_ I love you. _

What the fuck? Were you seeing things? Were you dreaming? Was this his idea of a sick joke? 

Your heart was hammering painfully against your ribs, pumping blood faster through your veins, increasing the pressure behind your eyes. Pushing your fingers against your temple and massaging it, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, on getting your heart rate down. 

Only when you didn’t feel like you were going to pass out from the pain did you open your eyes. There they were, the text messages, in black and white. You hadn’t been seeing things and it hadn’t been a dream. 

_ I don’t know what to do. _

_ I love you. _

Your thumb hovered over the reply button, bobbing up and down every few seconds as you struggled with a severe case of emotional whiplash. You wanted to answer Clint, tell him that you forgave him, that you loved him  _ so much _ , but the look in his eyes when you saw him the evening before made you suck in a breath. Suddenly, the utter agony you had been feeling turned to anger and resentment. 

Without another thought, you went to the options under Clint’s name and blocked his number, then you deleted the messages from the text history. Falling back, you tapped out a message to Wanda before closing your eyes for only a few minutes. Or so you thought.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Wanda was knocking on your door and she was pulling you into a tight hug as soon as the door opened. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you sighed.

“For you, I’d do anything,” Wanda crooned, her accent thick with confusion. “Tell me what happened.”

You locked the door after closing it and went to the couch where you started rummaging inside the bag from Best Buy. “Clint came over yesterday,  _ determined _ to get my John Hancock on the annulment papers. I… I tried to get him to talk to me, to tell me the truth, but he just… he wouldn’t.” 

Wanda grunted as she shook her head. “Son of a bitch. Here I thought Steve had talked some sense into him.”

“Wait, what?” You looked up from the phone you were unwrapping, the one with a brand new number. 

“Steve talked to Clint the other day, said that Clint was going to tell you how he  _ really _ felt,” Wanda explained. “Not some bullshit about Fentanyl and only liking you like a sister.”

You rolled your eyes as tears stung them. Of course he had been lying about the Fentanyl. God, you had no idea what to believe anymore. 

“It doesn’t matter. We both signed the annulment and I kicked him out of my life. I’m done with him, Wan. I can’t do it anymore.”

Her hand fell to your knee which she then squeezed. “I’m here for you, no matter what, okay? So, tell me about this call with your cousin.”

“Tony has a place that I can rent,” you started to explain. “He says I can move in whenever I need. I’ll be taking a hit on the lease with this place, but I can’t stay here.”

“Where is it, the new place?” Wanda inquired softly. 

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek until you were sure it was going to start bleeding. “You can’t tell Clint. Hell, I don’t even think I want Steve to know.”

“I won’t tell Steve if you don’t want me to,” she assured you, eyes wide and inquisitive. 

“Okay,” you answered, raking a hand through your hair. “It’s an hour outside of town, on the lake. There’s hardly anyone out there, especially this time of year. It’s perfect for me right now.”

“When are you leaving?” Wanda asked in a whisper.

You took a look around the small apartment and blew out a ragged breath. “Tonight.” 

“So soon?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed, covering her hand with yours. “Starting over as soon as possible is the best thing for me right now.”

Wanda was typing out a message to Steve, letting him know she wouldn’t be home until the following day. “Okay, I’m all yours. Let’s get this place packed up.”

“It should only take a few hours since hardly any of this stuff is mine,” you chuckled, sending her a text so she had your new number.

“Good,” she said as she stood. “That means we can watch that new movie on Netflix.”

Three weeks after moving out of town and into the house your cousin owned, you had settled in quite nicely. The place was completely furnished, so there was no need to go furniture or appliance shopping, which was a blessing. You’d gotten fired shortly after moving out of the city due to poor attendance, or some bullshit like that. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony had said when you mentioned the loss of your job. “I’m not going to kick out my own family.” 

The search for a new job began after updating your resume. Two weeks after  _ that _ , you had just about given up. The jobs that were in need of your expertise weren’t looking to pay what you knew you should be making, and there was no way you were going into the fast food service even though you were getting desperate. 

“I’ll ask Tony before applying  _ there _ ,” you scoffed. 

“What’s stopping you from asking him?” Wanda wanted to know.

You blew out a heavy breath as yet another headache flared to life. “Pride, I guess. He’s family, Wanda, and he’s already doing so much letting me stay here without paying rent.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ll probably need to swallow that pride. Wine makes it go down easier,” she chuckled, emerging from the kitchen with two glasses of wine in her hands. 

Nodding in agreement, you took the glass only to cringe when the aroma of it hit your nose. “Where’d you get this?”

“The bottle in the kitchen,” she explained as she smelled the wine in her glass. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s rancid or something,” you mumbled, shoving off of the couch and striding into the kitchen. 

“You sure?” Wanda asked as she followed close behind. “You just bought it.”

You poured the wine down the sink and rinsed out the glass. “I don’t know,” you said when you saw your friend take a drink of the wine that had made you gag.

“It tastes fine to me,” she noted, looking at you curiously.

“Stop looking at me like that, Wan,” you huffed. “I’m fine. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Even as you said the words you knew they were wrong. Yeah, you were rundown and not feeling the greatest, but you weren’t sick. Without a word, you disappeared into the bathroom and pulled out the white box with pink lettering that boasted results in under three minutes from the cabinet. Why you bought the test you had no idea, but when you had seen it at the store the other day you couldn’t stop yourself from adding it to the cart. 

After following the directions on the side, you washed your hands and watched in absolute horror as two dark lines began to show at the end of the stick. 

_ Thirty seconds, that didn’t take long. Shit. Shit! _

“Wanda,” you called out, your voice trembling and tears in your eyes. “I need you.”

She appeared mere seconds later, worry on her brow. “What’s wrong?”

With shaking hands, you held out the positive pregnancy test for her to see. 


	5. Say What?

The rush of blood in Clint’s ears and bile at the back of his throat is what woke him. He sat up and bolted into the bathroom where he clung to the toilet as his body eradicated the alcohol he had ingested. Again and again, until he felt like his liver was going to land in the toilet.

Oh, God, he felt like he was going to die. 

He pulled himself up on shaking legs and brushed his teeth, gargling with mouthwash once his tongue no longer felt like he licked a dirty gutter. Taking a look at his reflection, he groaned, low and heavy, wincing at the pain that seared across his forehead. 

“Son of a…” Clint yanked out the bottle of ibuprofen and choked down four as he stumbled into the kitchen. Orange juice, he needed some as soon as possible. Despite the fact he had just brushed his teeth, it felt good on his throat, and before he knew it, the bottle was empty. 

After tossing it into the recycling, Clint glanced at the clock. The numbers were blurry, but he could make out the fact that it was well after ten in the morning. Shit. He was supposed to be at work almost four hours ago. 

Searching for his phone proved to be difficult. It wasn’t in any of his pockets and it wasn’t charging on the counter where he  _ swore _ he left it. Then again, he had been blackout drunk last night. He shuffled over to the couch and moved the cushions around until the device clattered on the floor next to his feet. 

Missed calls, texts, and voicemail notifications were the first thing he noticed. Well, besides the blinding light that made his eyes screw shut. Ignoring them all, he made a quick call to his manager, telling Phil that he needed a sick day. Phil said he understood, but that the next time Clint decided to call in, it needed to be before the start of his shift. 

After disconnecting the call, Clint opened up his texts and the words that he didn’t remember sending to Y/N last night made his heart stop. 

“What the -?” 

He tried scrolling down to see her answer, but there wasn’t one. Not that he was surprised, but part of him hoped that she would have at least asked if he was kidding or threatening to kick his ass. Nothing. 

Dropping to the couch with a pained grunt, Clint continued to stare at his phone. He didn’t remember sending the messages, telling Y/N that he loved her, but he couldn’t deny the truth that was staring him in the face in black and white. 

Shit, she must really hate him if she didn’t answer. 

Though he had no idea what he was going to say, Clint was tempted to send her another one, but the phone rang. 

“Heya, Steve,” Clint rasped after clearing his throat. 

“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d kick your ass,” Steve growled. “Again.”

Clint scraped a hand over his face and fell back onto the cushion. “How did you find out so fast? I just gave the papers to Bruce last night.”

“I saw him at the courthouse, you idiot,” Steve scoffed loudly. “Jesus, Clint. You said -”

“I know what I said,” Clint bit out, regretting it immediately. “I changed my mind.”

He could imagine the way Steve was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You changed your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?”

Clint drew in a shuddering breath before answering. “I don’t know.” 

“Look, I know you’ve been burned in the past, but that doesn’t mean you get to lash out and hurt the woman you love,” Steve pointed out, the anger seeping out of his voice. “Y/N isn’t  _ her _ .”

“ _ She’s _ got nothin’ to do with this, Steve,” Clint insisted lowly. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up.”

Steve sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, man, but ever since -”

Clint didn’t let Steve finish, he disconnected the call and fought back the urge to throw the phone across the hall. Steve was right, even if Clint didn’t want to admit it. The last  _ real _ relationship he had ended horribly, and even though it happened almost six years ago, the damage had been done, making it exceedingly difficult for Clint to move on. 

Yes, he loved Y/N with everything he had, but he was no good for her. He was damaged goods, and Y/N deserved to be with someone that didn’t have a ton of emotional baggage. Did that mean he should get a free pass for treating her the way he had? Hell no. He deserved to have Steve kick his ass, and then some. 

Jesus, he was a mess. 

After shoving himself off of the couch, he started a pot of coffee and took a shower. When he emerged from the bathroom, he felt slightly better, though he still looked like death warmed over. The coffee was bitter thanks in part to the fact that he had brushed his teeth again, and when his stomach decided to let him know that it was ready for food, he grabbed his keys and phone, and headed down to the cafe on the corner. 

By the time Clint got back, he felt like he could pass out. Hungover and full, he kicked off his shoes, hung up his jacket, and sat on the couch, cell phone between his fingers, spinning it around as he tried to decide what to do. 

Call Y/N or text? 

Do nothing?

She said she wanted nothing to do with him. Did she mean it? 

_ Of course she meant it, fucking idiot. _

She wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it. She even asked for her key back, the key she said she’d  _ never _ ask for back. God, he  _ really _ messed things up. 

He wanted so badly to turn back the hands of time. Go back to the morning after their drunken vows and tell Y/N how he really felt, that he loved her implicitly, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy. Hell, he’d take going back to yesterday, or two days before that. He’d pull his head out of his ass and tear up the paperwork that had been drawn up. But there was no turning back, there was no fixing  _ this _ . Unless…

“Hey, man,” Bruce greeted. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, about the annulment.”

Bruce made a  _ tsk _ sound. “Sorry, Clint. I turned them in first thing this morning.”

Clint’s full stomach twisted and it made his mouth water. “Shit. I was hoping I could catch you before you got a chance to file them.”

“Judge Fury has them,” Bruce added. “And once the judge has them, that’s it. It’s out of my hands.”

Clint blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, thanks.”

“Hey, you okay?” 

“No,” Clint scoffed softly. “I just made the biggest mistake of my life.”

“And you’re now just realizing that?” Bruce deadpanned. 

Clint shrugged, not that Bruce could see it. “Better late than never?”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know,” Clint answered honestly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Clint stared at his phone for almost two hours after the call disconnected, his thumb hovering over Y/N’s contact information. He knew that even  _ if _ she answered, he would have to literally beg for a chance to explain why he acted like such a jackass. 

Holding his breath, he connected the call.

_ I’m sorry, the number you are trying to reach is out of service. _

“What the fuck?” He tried it again. 

_ I’m sorry, the number you are trying to reach - _

And again. 

_ I’m sorry, the number - _

And again. 

_ I’m sorry - _

His heart started thundering in his chest and panic coursed through him. He surged off the couch, shoved his feet into his shoes, and grabbed his keys before bolting out of the apartment. Their apartment buildings were only a few blocks apart, and he ran the entire way, bumping into people that shouted obscenities at him when he didn’t apologize. He had only one thing on his mind; Y/N.

Once inside the complex, Clint banged on the door, shouting her name, begging for her to open the door, but there was no answer. He pressed his ear to the door and listened, but there was nothing, nobody moving around, there was only silence. 

“You just missed her,” one of her neighbors informed him, poking their head into the hallway.

Clint whirled around. “How long ago?”

“Five, maybe ten minutes.”

“Do you know where she went?” he demanded to know. “It’s kind of an emergency.”

The neighbor shook his head. “Wherever she went, she’s not coming back anytime soon.”

Panic began to claw at Clint’s chest. “What do you mean?”

“She moved out,” was all he said, eyeing Clint up and down, assessing him. “Seemed like she was in a hell of a hurry, too.”

_ Shit. SHIT! _

“Do you uh, did she leave a number or anything? I tried calling her.” 

“Sorry, man.” Another shake of his head before he went back into his apartment. 

For six weeks, Clint did everything he could to find Y/N, short of hiring a private detective, because damn, they were expensive. But if this didn’t work, that would be his next step. He’d go broke, but it would be worth it.

“Please, Wan,” Clint begged with zero shame. He was - once again - literally on his knees, grovelling to the woman his best friend loved. 

“I can’t, Clint,” she repeated. “I promised her.”

Clint was crying, his head hanging, his shoulders shaking. “I need to tell her how sorry I am. I need her to know that I love her.”

Wanda and Steve looked at one another for several moments before Steve said, “She knows, man. We’ve told her.”

“I thought you didn’t know where she was?” Clint choked out, his head whipping up so he could glare at his friend. 

“That’s right,” Steve scoffed. “Get pissed at me. I’m the one that fucked this whole thing up.”

“Stop it,” Wanda pleaded before turning her attention back to Clint. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

Clint fell to his ass with a grunt and scraped a hand over his damp face. Steve pulled Wanda to the side and bent down to whisper.

“Wanda, if anything, he needs to know about the baby.”

“I can’t just  _ tell _ him, Steve,” she shot back, eyes darting over to make sure Clint wasn’t paying attention. 

Steve curled his finger under Wanda’s chin. “I get it. I’m not happy about how he treated her, but it’s not our secret to keep.”

“She’s my best friend,” Wanda reminded him. “I’ll keep it a secret for as long as she wants me to.”

“I’m pissed at him, too, okay,” Steve sighed unhappily. “But this is bigger than that.”

“I’ll call her, see what she wants to do, but I’m not saying a damn word about the baby, and neither are you,” she bit out, stepping away from her boyfriend. 

Clint’s stomach dropped as he pushed off of the floor. “What baby?” 

When Wanda slapped a hand over her mouth, Steve was the one to say, “Y/N is pregnant, Clint, and it’s yours.”


	6. On Bended Knee

[ ](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwi_s_74jYLhAhXJop4KHXJZDE8QjRx6BAgBEAU&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.fanpop.com%2Fclubs%2Fbrucas%2Fimages%2F21434340%2Ftitle%2Fwanted-fight-fanart&psig=AOvVaw1VaYP-WKCGgllWgjHqiheJ&ust=1552669214666702)

“You did  _ what _ ?” you gasped into the phone, your heart plummeting into your stomach. He knew. Of all the people in the world you didn’t want to know about the pregnancy,  _ he  _ knew.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Wanda muttered. “We didn’t think he could hear us.”

You dropped to the couch with a sigh and raked a hand through your hair. “Did you give him my number and address, too?” you snapped. “Jesus, if I wanted him to know anything I would have told Nat.”

“That’s not fair,” she chastised, sending a pang of guilt through you.

“Sorry, Wan,” you murmured, head hanging, hair falling in your face. “I just… I thought I’d have more time.”

Steve was talking in the background, something about setting up a meeting. 

“No, uh uh,” you denied, shaking your head and gritting your teeth. “I can’t see him. Not now.”

“Then when?” Wanda wanted to know. “When you’re eight months pregnant and waddling around the house?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image of you doing exactly that. “No, but -”

“Steve and I will be there,” she added. “Run interference, keep you calm, whatever you need.”

“But -”

Wanda said your name sternly. “You have every right to hate the man, but you didn’t see him. He was on his knees, literally  _ begging _ to see you. I think… I think he realizes how badly he fucked up. Give him a chance, huh?”

You scoffed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I don’t know, Wanda.”

“Sleep on it, okay?” she suggested softly despite Steve’s protests. “Call me in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed with a defeated sigh. 

“Love you.”

“Love you,” you said, disconnecting the call with a stab of your thumb. 

The phone clattered onto the table loudly, making you wince. Next to your phone were several printouts from the ultrasound you had earlier in the day. The light from the kitchen shone off the glossy paper as you picked it up, tracing your finger over the small circular area the tech said was your baby.  _ Your _ baby. God, that scared the living hell out of you. 

You fell back onto the couch, still staring at the black and white image, completely in awe and fucking scared at the same time. Being a mother had always been something you wanted to be, but as a woman that was never officially married and running away from the man she loved? You didn’t know if you could handle it. 

Clint had said some extremely hurtful things, but maybe Wanda was right. Maybe Clint deserved another chance. Besides, you weren’t the only one you needed to worry about anymore. You couldn’t be selfish and live in another county than the father of your unborn child. Could you? 

With a groan, you pushed off of the couch, grabbed your phone, locked the doors, and headed upstairs where you filled the tub with hot water and some lavender oil. After pinning your hair up, you stripped out of your clothes and stepped into the tub, sighing in appreciation as the water enveloped your body. You folded a hand towel and set it behind your neck once you were seated. Even though your stomach showed no signs of being pregnant, you pressed a hand against it and smiled. 

“What should I do, little one?” you asked as if that would help. “Should I give your daddy a chance?”

Of course, there was no answer, and you sort of felt stupid for expecting one. You rolled your eyes before closing them, willing yourself to not think about Clint. Too bad it didn’t work.

_ Your back curved off the bed, legs spread wide, hands on Clint’s ass, keening, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.  _

_ “I’ve wanted this,” Clint panted, his tongue and teeth on your skin, his body slotted perfectly between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”  _

_ You pressed a hand to the headboard for two reasons. The main one was to keep from hitting your head as he pounded into you, the clapping of wet skin almost thunderous in the small room. The other was more beneficial. You used it for leverage, pushing your body toward his.  _

_ “I love you,” Clint had moaned, his shoulders bowed, thighs spread, hips colliding with yours, hands roaming your curves, pulling you into him. _

_ “I love you, too,” you gasped, your body taut as you barrelled toward the orgasm you so desperately craved.  _

_ Clint bit down on your shoulder as your body tightened around him, clenching, coaxing him to follow suit. A handful of sloppy thrusts later, he came with a grunt of your name that you’d hear in your dreams for weeks to come.  _

Water sloshed over the side of the tub when you hooked your leg over the edge, a hand between your legs, two fingers three knuckles deep inside of your pussy. You held your breath and squeezed your breast the way Clint had, blunt nails digging into the tissue, reddening the skin. You came when your thumb circled your throbbing clit, fast, hard, relentless, borderline painful. 

You stayed there for several minutes, stars littering your vision, raggedly sucking in the humid air, leg still hung over the tub, a post-orgasmic blush coloring your skin. It wasn’t the first time you’d masturbated to the memory of that night, but you were still surprised whenever it happened. 

Shaking your head, you pulled the plug and moved to stand, gripping the edge of the tub to keep your balance. You grabbed a towel and dried off, brushed your teeth, palmed your phone, and pulled on a pair of underwear and a t-shirt before falling onto the bed. 

God, you were tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep would help, although it would be nice. You were tired in your soul, deep in the marrow of your bones, wanted to roll over and  _ cry _ until you couldn’t breathe, tired. You plugged the charger into your phone, beat the pillow into submission, and fell into a fitful sleep. 

You weren’t ready to see Clint. You  _ were _ , but you weren’t. Shit, you felt like you were going throw up. Which, given the fact you were pregnant was par for the course. 

Wanda was holding your hand and smiling softly. “Steve said they’re almost here.”

“I can’t do this,” you blurted out, anxiety clawing its way out of your chest. “I can’t see him.”

“You can,” she assured you, her voice calm and soothing. It wasn’t the first time Wanda had talked you down. “You’ve got this, babe.”

You looked at her with tears in your eyes. “God, what is  _ wrong _ with me?”

“You’re pregnant,” she chuckled. “Too many hormones.”

“It’s not just that,” you insisted, swiping at the rogue tears on your cheeks. “I’m pissed off at him, but I keep thinking… what if he’s  _ mad _ at me for being pregnant?”

Wanda’s face fell. “Oh, babe, no. That’s… that’s not even an emotion he’s feeling right now.” 

“But how do you  _ know _ ?”

There was a knock on the door half of a second before it opened. Steve came through the door first, giving you a warm smile before moving to the side. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight of Clint. God, he looked like shit.

_ Good. Serves him right. _ Looked like you were back to being pissed at him. 

He hung up his jacket and slipped out of his shoes before saying anything. It was a rasp, really, your name. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. Angry at him or not, your mother would roll over in her grave if you weren’t hospitable. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure.” 

You moved to get a cup from the kitchen, but Steve told you he’d take care of it. Clint took a seat in a chair across from the couch and draped his forearms over his thighs, fingers tangling together as he looked everywhere else but you. 

“Nice place,” he commented nervously. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled again, shifting as anxiety prickled your skin like electricity. 

Once Steve joined the group, you sat up straighter and started fidgeting with one of the many rings Wanda was wearing. Clint took several long drinks of coffee before setting it on the table. 

“So…” you said after clearing your throat. “You asked to see me. Here I am.”

Why? Why were there tears stinging your eyes? Why did you want to reach out and slap him senseless only to grab his face and kiss him until neither of you could breathe? 

He looked at you then, a sad smile on his lips. “You’re even more beautiful than before.”

“No,” you ground out. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” Clint scoffed. “Tell you that I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

You ripped your hand from Wanda’s and shoved yourself off of the couch. “No, Clint, you can’t.”

“Why not?” he demanded to know, standing tall. 

“Because it won’t change anything,” you shouted, waving Wanda off as she started to say something. “You… you said some really mean things, Clint, and you lied to me. I told you I loved you and you  _ hurt _ me.” 

Clint’s face fell as you started crying. When he took a step toward you, you shook your head and stepped back. “I fucked up, and I know no amount of apologies are going to change what I did, but I’m sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry. I never meant -”

“Never meant, what, Clint?” you needed to know. “Never meant to marry me, never meant to get me pregnant? What?!”

“I never meant to fall in love with you,” he sighed, and God, that hurt more than anything he’d said before. 

With your chin quivering, you gave a curt nod. “Get out.”

His head flew up and tear-soaked green eyes scanned yours. “What? No. Please, don’t.”

“Don’t break your spirit like you did mine?” you ground out, hands balled into fists at your sides. “Don’t listen to a goddamn word you have to say, no matter how truthful you’re being?”

Cling shook his head and shrugged. “What do you want?”

“I wanted you to  _ fight _ for me,” you yelled. “Instead, you threw me to the side like trash!”

“I love you,” Clint choked out. “I love you  _ so fucking much _ , and yeah, I fucked everything up, because that’s what I do, sweetheart. I hurt the people I love.”

“Why?” you rasped, heart hammering in your chest, blood roaring in your ears. “Why did you do it?”

“Because, I -” Clint sniffled loudly, a hand diving through his hair. “I’m damaged goods, Y/N. I was afraid of ruining your life.”

You rolled your eyes painfully hard. “Jesus. Clint, we are  _ all _ damaged in one way or another. That doesn’t give you the right to do what you did.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Please, can you just… can we start…  _ over _ ?“

“How the hell do you propose we do that?” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“Funny you should use that word,” Clint chuckled, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. 

You watched as he pulled a small black box and dropped to one knee. “Clint, what are you doing?”

“The right thing,” he answered, opening the box. 

“The right thing,” you mocked. “Of course! You’re proposing because I’m pregnant. Hear that, Wan? He’s doing the right thing!” 

Without giving anyone else a chance to say something, you spun on your heel and ran upstairs, slamming the door behind you. Inside your bedroom, you started pacing like a caged animal, seething, growling obscenities under your breath, seeing red. When there was a knock on your door, you screamed at whoever it was, telling them to go to hell and get the fuck out of your house. They didn’t listen.

The door opened and Clint stepped inside. “Sweetheart, please -”

“Stop calling me that,” you screamed, shoving him in the chest. “You don’t get to call me  _ that _ .” 

“Okay, you’re right,” he conceded, black box still in his hand. “But, can I finish what I started downstairs?”

“No. No, you can’t. I want you out, Clint. Gone. Out of my life.”

You tried to ignore the stab of guilt in your chest when his chin quaked. “What about the baby?”

“You’ll have visitation,” you informed him, voice incredibly cold. “I wouldn’t keep a baby from its father. But this,” you motioned to the space between you, “is not happening. I… I can’t be around you, especially right now. I’m… I’m so  _ angry _ that I can’t see straight. I just need you to leave. Please.”

“Okay, Y/N,” Clint reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out an envelope which he set on your dresser, along with the velvet box. WIth a tight, sad smile, he left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at the envelope and box, but when Wanda came into the room, your entire body started shaking and you started crying. You collapsed against the smaller woman as she collected you in her arms and cried into her hair. 


	7. Truce

The envelope was thick, heavy, the adhesive barely holding the papers it contained. Wanda had offered to stay, but you wanted to be alone, to process whatever was written without any outside influence, no matter how good her intention was. 

You stared at your name scrawled on the outside, hands shaking, stomach jumping, heart pounding until the curious itch on the back of your neck became too much to ignore. Holding your breath, you pulled out the much single sheet of paper first. The thick stack could wait, for now.

_ Her name was Ava, and she was the one I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And then, the newness of if, the shiny and beautifully imperfect perfection, was scrubbed away.  _

_ Ava was… possessive. She wanted to know where I was, who I was with, what I was doing at ALL times. She would follow me to work to make sure I actually went. She cloned my cell to make sure I wasn’t cheating. Hell, she crashed my mother’s funeral because she thought Steve and I were more than friends. You don’t want to know what she said about Wanda.  _

_ The last year of our relationship, Ava got violent. If I got home five minutes late, she would slap me. If she didn’t like the way I said something, it was a punch. If dinner was burned… well, you get the idea.  _

_ I was scared. I wanted to get out, but I felt trapped. Ava manipulated me into doing many things, one of them was getting married. She wanted it so badly. I knew there was no way I should stay, but I did it anyway. I proposed, and for a month or so, everything was great. I thought that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.  _

_ I was wrong. I still stayed, no matter how wrong I was.  _

_ It happened the day of the wedding. Ava saw me hugging Wanda and she flipped. Started hitting me in front of everyone, screaming at me, calling me liar and a cheat, said that I deserved what was coming. I thought maybe she’d storm off and get something to drink, cool down in her own way, but that’s not what she did. I mean, she stormed off. Right behind the wheel of our car.  _

_ I was in the hospital for three weeks. Broken arms and leg, internal bleeding, collapsed lung, intracranial pressure… you name it.  _

_ You see, when I say I have baggage, I mean I went through a time that changed me into someone I don’t recognize, into someone broken. Because of this, I push people away when they get too close and, in doing so, I pushed away and hurt the one person I cared about the most; you.  _

_ What happened to me in my past is not an excuse, I know that. I just needed you to know.  _

_ I’m sorry for how I behaved the morning after. I’m sorry for all of the things I said. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. God, am I sorry.  _

_ I never, ever meant to hurt you. I can’t take any of it back, no matter how badly I wish I could. If you never want to see or speak to me again, I understand. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.  _

_ Love, _

_ Clint _

Tears streamed down your face and your chest ached. How did you not know about  _ any _ of it, Ava and the abuse? Nobody had said a word in the five years you’ve known Steve, Wanda, and Clint. Not one single  _ word _ . 

After dragging a hand over your face, you pulled out the remaining papers and gasped. It was the annulment decree, and someone had stamped the word DENIED in the middle of the front page. 

_Other party signed under duress, per Clint Barton._ _Motion denied._

Wait, what?! 

Convinced you were seeing things, you read it again. 

_ Other party signed under duress, per Clint Barton. _

And again.

_ Motion denied.  _

You rubbed your eyes and stared hard at the lettering until it blurred together, forming a dark blob that made your eyes ache. After folding the decree, you set it on the nightstand, along with the letter Clint had written. Of the things Clint left behind, all that remained untouched was the black box. It was on your thigh, the light catching on the silver decoration that wrapped around it. A giant part of you wanted to open it and see the ring that he had chosen, to slide it on your finger and see if it went alongside the silver band you continued to wear even though you had assumed the annulment had gone through. 

Sighing deeply, you slid the box onto the nightstand and turned off the light. 

Once home, Clint managed to convince Steve that he was okay, that he could be left alone, that he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Well, nothing too stupid. 

With his phone clutched in his hand, he paced around the apartment, hand raking through his hair and over his face, sighs heaving out of him whenever his mind wandered too far. He had pushed her too hard and said all the wrong things. She was right, he had said some pretty hurtful things, things nobody should ever have to hear. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. 

A drink. He needed a drink. No. What he actually needed was to stay clear-minded and grounded. He  _ needed _ to stay sober. You know, in case Y/N called. Not that he was going to hold his breath, but you know, she might. 

The minutes stretched into hours and Clint thought he was going to go insane. He’d gotten phone calls and texts from Steve and Wanda, both checking up on him. Each time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt into his throat and pulsed, choking him for a second. He didn’t answer the phone calls, just typed out a message saying he was fine, that he wanted to be left alone. 

With a resigned sigh, he trudged into the bathroom and took a hot shower. His mind wandered while standing under the steady stream of water. Despite the deep-rooted shame, it had felt good to tell Y/N about Ava. He should have told her sooner, he knew that, but he couldn’t go back in time and change anything. If time travel was obtainable, he’d go back a lot farther than the moment he fell in love with Y/N. 

The water going cold made Clint grunt in surprise. He turned off the water and dried off, forgoing the towel as he made his way into the bedroom. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt, and was just about to step into a pair of sweats when he noticed the notification light on his phone. 

“Breathe,” he reminded himself. “It’s not her. Quit acting like this.”

Despite the pep talk, his hand was shaking as he palmed the phone, thumb hitting the button on the side before unlocking the screen. There was one new text from a number he didn’t know.


	8. Apology Accepted

[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/dda5fe6c79bea48b4859d22d0d914751/tumblr_novg8ytEkO1qi82fbo7_250.gif)

No matter what position you worked yourself into or how badly you beat the pillow into submission, you couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep. You were too hot, too cold, there were too many blankets covering you, not enough, the fan wasn’t hitting you just right, then it was too much. But, most of all, your brain wouldn’t stop racing. 

It was shortly after ten when you couldn’t take it any longer. You kicked off the blankets, picked up your phone, and sent Clint a text, asking if he could talk. You didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t for an almost-immediate answer. 

It wouldn’t take Clint too long to get there, maybe an hour, so you got out of bed, pulled on a pair of loose yoga pants, shoved your hair into a high knot, grabbed the ring box and envelope, and headed into the kitchen. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the apple pie container, and that was when you remembered you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. 

You made yourself an omelette and started a pot of coffee. Seated at the table, steaming mug of coffee next to the plate, you tried to take your mind off of Clint by playing some good, old-fashioned gin rummy on your phone. You were surprised to find that it actually worked. 

There was a knock on the front door and it had your heart skipping. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath as you moved through the house until you unlocked, then opened the door. It came out in a rush at the sight of Clint, dark bags under his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. 

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the threshold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

You closed and locked the door. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s late.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he let you know, following you into the kitchen. He took the coffee from you, sighing as he breathed in the steam. “God, I’ve missed your coffee almost as much as I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” you confessed, resting your fingers on the letter. “I read it.”

Clint swallowed loudly and set down the mug. “I was hoping you would.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you implored gently. 

A heaving, shuddering sigh left Clint and his eyes screwed shut. He reached back to squeeze his neck, wincing slightly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I was just… ashamed.” 

“Clint,” you choked out. Unable to stand there any longer, you rushed over and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry. For  _ everything _ .”

He held you tight, his face in your neck and his shoulders shaking as he cried. He was apologizing, over and over, saying you had every right to be mad at him, to never want to see him again, but then he was begging, pleading with you to give him another chance. 

“Just one, please,” Clint cried.

With your hands on his face and butterflies in your chest, you pressed your lips to his. “In good times and in bad, right?”

Clint huffed in agreement. “I do,” he moaned, low in his throat before capturing your lips in his. 

Another moan left him as you sucked on his bottom lip and then his coffee-coated tongue. When you wrapped your arms around his neck, he couldn’t refrain from grabbing your ass and pulling you off the floor. With your legs tight around his waist, Clint maneuvered around the table, up the stairs, down the hall, and into your room where he kicked the door shut.

You untangled your legs from his waist, groaning when he lowered you slowly to the floor, pushing every inch of his chest against yours. Your hands were under his shirt, on his waist, nails scratching the flushed skin. You looked up and found his pupils blown, his already full lips were kiss-swollen and parted. 

“I meant what I said that night, I want this. I want you, Y/N,” his voice was thick and rough, wrecked with need. 

With your bottom lip captured between your teeth, you pushed up his shirt. Your heart pounded harder and faster with every inch of him that was revealed. You may have seen him naked that night so many weeks ago, but the way his chest was heaving as air tore in and out of him, fuck, it was almost too much to bear.

While he finished removing his shirt and dropped it to the floor, your hands fell to the top of his jeans. You smirked when you realized he was wearing button-fly jeans. Not that you minded a zipper, but there was something more fun about slowly undoing each button one by one. With every push of a button through denim, Clint grunted. They started soft, at the back of his throat, but by the time there was one button left, his hands were on your wrists and dark green eyes flashed hungrily.

Arching your brow, you popped the last button, flexing your wrists under his touch. He didn’t let go, not until you pushed your hands inside his boxer briefs and started to slide them down his hips and thighs. His cock sprang free, swaying and bobbing gently. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, thick and long, slightly curved at the end, the head was blushing and seeping. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you’d dropped to your knees and wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, dark hairs tickling your skin. You pressed your tongue to the underside of his cock, breathing him in as you licked him, feeling the swell of the vein on your tongue until you reached the tip. Your eyes fluttered closed as the bittersweet drops of pre-cum landed on your tongue.

Clints mouth fell open and his head lolled back, hips jerking when you wrapped your lips around him, twirling your tongue around and around, flicking it back and forth through the slit. His hands tangled in your hair, tighter and tighter with every bob of your head, every inch of him that you sucked deep into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Sinful moans were falling from his lips as you took him deeper, swallowing around him, his dark curls tickling your nose. You would have been content to swallow his cum, feel the heat of it slide down your throat, but he had other things on his mind.

You were off your knees and Clint was undressing you, kicking out of his shoes, socks, boxers, and jeans at the same time. First your shirt, then your pants, hit the floor. His hands were warm and heavy on your naked breasts, nipples peaked and pressed into his palms. He looked at you with hooded lids, a breathy curse falling from his lips before kissing you. Holding you firm to his chest, he pulled you off the floor and laid you on the bed, draping his body over yours. Even through your panties, his cock was hot, pulsing. You rolled your hips up, swallowing his moan and sucking on his tongue.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he ground out, his voice shattered. 

Clint marked you with his beard and teeth, biting and sucking dark marks until you hissed. Sitting back on his knees, his fingers dragged along your body, twisting, pinching, pulling, goosebumps jumping to life under his touch. He hooked his fingers into the only item of clothing that remained and pulled them down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, all while staring at you with lust-blown pupils. You grew self-conscious under his gaze, blushing and averting your eyes, hands twitching to cover yourself. 

Clint shook his head, saying, “You’re beautiful, sweetheart, so fuckin’ beautiful.” His voice was more a ragged whisper than anything, and a strange sense of self-acceptance washed through you, hushing the small voices of doubt in your mind.

Then he was kissing you, sucking your bottom lip between his, nipping at the plump flesh before sweeping his tongue over it, running his fingers through your hair, pushing your legs further apart with his thighs. Your heart was hammering, pushing blood faster through your veins, thundering in your ears like a waterfall. The base of Clint’s cock was pressed against your engorged clit as you rutted against one another. Your pussy tightened painfully, desperately seeking out his cock.

With your nails at the small of his back, you whined, “Need you to fuck me.”

Clint’s moan was ragged, making his shoulders shudder. He was on you in a flash, kissing you hungrily and a hand on the base of his cock, sweeping the swollen head through your slick folds. He bit your lower lip as he pushed in slowly, his hips shaking as he fought for control. All he wanted to do, all you wanted him to do, was fill you so completely you couldn’t breathe. But he took his time, and god dammit, you almost came from the lazy drag of his twitching cock.

Hot air blasted on your chest as Clint looked between your bodies and watched his cock disappear, until all he could see was his dark curls tangled with yours. Your breath caught in your throat as he stretched you, not stopping until his pelvis bit into yours. Neither of you moved for a moment, you just lay there, senses in hyperdrive. Every twitch made one of you gasp or moan, every brush of skin made goosebumps flare to life. And just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Clint pulled back, just as slow as when he filled you, stopping only when his cock-head remained.

With a guttural sound, he snapped his hips, driving the air from your lungs with a grunt and sent an echo of wet skin through the room. He used his thighs to open your legs wider, subsequently, doing the same thing to your pussy, and giving him a new angle to make you cry out. And cry out you did. Your back arched and air was tearing in and out of your throat. 

Clint’s mouth was on your shoulder, biting, kissing, sucking, raggedly whispering how, “fucking amazing you feel. So fucking tight and wet.” And then an sinful moan of your name would fall from his lips.

He slid a hand under your arched back and hooked it on your shoulder, digging his fingers deep into the skin and muscles with every snap of his hips. You were meeting his thrusts, nails cutting into his shoulder blades, lower back, and ass as the coil tightened and the pleasurable white-hot burn began to spread out from your belly. His hips started to stutter and both your already ragged breathing came sharper, echoing the wet, sucking sounds of sex.

With his forehead on your shoulder and his bowing with every thrust, Clint slid a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, and pressed his two middle fingers against your clit. Static exploded in your head and black dots swarmed in your eyes as you came. You held your breath as you pulsed around him, knowing the lack of oxygen would only fuel the intensity of the orgasm. When you couldn’t take it any longer, and Clint’s mantra of, “fuck, baby girl,” was harsh on your neck, you released the air held hostage, his name at the end a shattered whisper.

He laid there, between your shaking legs, propped up on his elbows, and kissed you languidly as you drug your fingers over the wide span of his shoulders. It was only when he had gone soft that Clint pulled out, each of you hissing in a mixture of arousal and over-sensitive skin. Clint disappeared into the bathroom, coming back a few moments later, finding you exactly where he had left you.

Sighing in contentment, you pushed off the bed and past him, giggling when he slapped your ass. You shot him a wink over your shoulder before closing the door behind you. It didn’t take long to get cleaned up, just a damp washcloth between your legs and a brush through your hair. Out of habit, you pulled on your robe and emerged to find him wearing boxer briefs and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to go…,” his voice trailed off as crimson colored his cheeks.

You stood between his legs and ran your fingers through his sex-mussed hair. “I’m not gonna tell you to go, Clint.”

His eyes fluttered closed as you bent down to kiss him. “Good, because I don’t want to leave you ever again.”


	9. I Do

**ONE YEAR LATER**

It felt weird, being out of the house, without your daughter in your arms, surrounded by all of your friends. Violet Barton had become the center of your attention from the moment she was born, and Clint was shamelessly wrapped around her tiny finger. 

But one night wasn’t going to hurt anyone, right? Especially when it was the night that you and Clint renewed your vows.In reality, it was more of a wedding ceremony than anything else, namely because you couldn’t remember the original act of getting married that drunken night last year. 

Naturally, after accepting Clint’s proposal, you went into planning mode, which wasn’t easy since you were also pregnant. Getting ready for a baby  _ and _ planning a wedding with a full reception? Talk about stress. Wanda, Steve, and Bruce helped out a lot, but even they started to crumble under the stress of it all. But, when all was said and done, everything came together in the end. 

Once again, Bruce oversaw the nuptials, announcing you as husband and wife to a room full of friends instead of his wife acting as the witness who also took video and pictures. He kept it short and sweet, which everyone appreciated. 

In the reception hall, Steve and Wanda acted as the best man and maid of honor, giving incredibly heartfelt speeches that made you cry and telling stories that made you roll your eyes and cringe. Everyone in attendance laughed at the jokes Steve shared and teared up during Wanda’s stories. By the time the music started, you were both emotionally drained and antsy at the same time. 

“And now, for their first dance as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Barton,” Steve announced. 

There were cheers and people clapping as you joined Clint in the middle of the dancefloor. With the music playing and your hand in his, he twirled you around before pulling you against his chest, a hand on the small of your back. 

_ I used to spend my nights out in a barroom _ _   
_ _ Liquor was the only love I've known _ _   
_ _ But you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom _ _   
_ _ And brought me back from being too far gone _ __   
  


_ You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey _ _   
_ _ You're as sweet as strawberry wine _ _   
_ _ You're as warm as a glass of brandy _ _   
_ __ And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time

“Have I told you that I love you, Mrs. Barton?” he purred against your ear.

You rolled your eyes. “Not lately, Mr. Barton.” 

Clint chuckled, low in his throat, his hand on the small of your back, the other curled around yours. He dipped you back, his nose trailing down your neck as he breathed you in, a kiss placed against your breastbone before you were being pulled back up. 

“I love you,” he murmured before he started singing along with the song.

_ I've looked for love in all the same old places _ _   
_ _ Found the bottom of a bottle always dry _ _   
_ _ But when you poured out your heart I didn't waste it _ _   
_ __ 'Cause there's nothing like your love to get me high

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a crimson print of your lips. He pulled you into him, his cheek against the side of your head, forearm tight against your back as the two of you moved around the dancefloor, camera flashes intruding through your closed lids. 

Never in a million years did you think you’d be as happy as you were. You had a beautiful daughter that you would do anything in the world to protect, and now, a husband that was also your best friend that you loved with every ounce of yourself. The best part? He loved you right back. 

_ You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey _ _   
_ _ You're as sweet as strawberry wine _ _   
_ _ You're as warm as a glass of brandy _ _   
_ __ And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time

When the song ended, Clint gave you a searing kiss, one that had you seeing stars. People were cheering and whistling shrilly, their catcalls were completely inappropriate, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Just as you were melting into him, the music changed to something upbeat and heavy on the bass. Wanda hooked her arm in yours and pulled you away from your husband. 

“You’ve got the rest of your life to kiss him,” Wanda teased. “Dance with me.”

Four hours later, Clint was carrying you across the threshold. Courtesy of your cousin, Tony, the hotel room was the best suite money could buy. He had given you the house you initially sought refuge in after finding out you were pregnant,  _ and _ he paid for your wedding. If he wasn’t careful, you were going to get spoiled. 

The calluses on Clint’s fingers caught in the lace and satin of your dress as he set you down next to the bed, your body sliding against his, the almost-silent  _ swish _ of your dress against his tux. 

“Need you,” he murmured between kisses, fingers fumbling over the row of buttons against your back. “Outta this dress.” 

You giggled and turned around. “There’s a zipper,” you informed him. 

“Thank God,” he groaned. His lips were on your neck as he slid the zipper down, fingers slipping beneath the satin and lace, revealing more of your skin for him to kiss. 

Goosebumps dotted your skin as the dress fell to the floor, pooling around your heeled-feet. Clint was on his knees, lips on the small of your back, fingers digging bruises into your hips. He turned you around, smearing his tongue over your waist and stomach, looking up at you through his dark lashes. With a smirk, he curled his fingers into the top of your panties and pushed them down, breathing in the thick scent of your arousal. You stepped out of the cotton and shoes, a shuddering moan leaving you when Clint slid his fingers between your legs. 

“Can’t wait to taste you,” he hummed. 

You reached behind your back and unhooked your bra before you laid back on the bed. “Then come on.” 

Clint quickly undressed, discarding the tux with a glimmer in his eyes. You grabbed your breasts roughly and expertly twisted your pert nipples. With a breathy moan, your back arched, pushing your ass into the mattress, and you drew your knees up, opening yourself to him.

Clint growled in appreciation and moved between your spread legs, dropping a kiss right above your clit. You bit back a moan and rolled your hips in an effort to urge him to continue. His chuckle was brief, sending small vibrations through your pussy before he licked a broad stripe from bottom to top, ending with a flick of his tongue to your clit. You would have begged him to keep going, but the breath was ripped from your lungs when one, then two thick fingers pushed into you, curling at the last moment.

A throaty groan fell from your mouth. This time, you were able to tell Clint exactly what you wanted. “Please don’t stop.”

Staring up at you between the valley of your breasts, he winked before wrapping his lips around your clit. He nipped at the aching bundle before laving it with his tongue. His fingers were dragging in and out, slowly at first, scissoring, stretching you so you could take a third finger.

You tried lifting your ass off the bed to get him closer, deeper, but his other hand spread over your belly, holding you down. Your clit was overstimulated and the way he was fucking you with his hand - three fingers, three knuckles deep - was quickly driving you to the edge. Stars were littering your vision and your entire body felt like it was thrumming, like there was electricity dancing along your skin, warm and tingly, sparking as it searched for someone to shock. The man between your legs replaced his mouth with his thumb, the blunt nail digging almost painfully into your clit as it worked furiously around it. 

You were gasping and writhing on the bed. “So close, so close,” you repeated over and over.

“Let go, baby. I got you,” Clint promised. 

The muscles in your stomach pulsed against his palm when his middle finger curled, massaging the one spot that would make you break. His reward was a slap of your hand over your mouth, followed quickly by the wet squelch of your pussy as you came hard.

The strokes of his fingers continued, although they were slowing down from their previous pace. His head was bowed and he was kissing your stomach, whispering praises against your sweat-slicked skin. He removed his fingers and spread your arousal all over his cock, hissing as a sting of sensitivity shot through him.

Clint cursed and looked at you through his lashes. You were panting, watching hungrily as he stroked himself. “You gonna fuck me, Barton?”

Another curse fell from Clint’s sinfully perfect lips before they were on yours, dominating, taking possession of your mouth. The wide head of his cock was sliding between your slick folds and then, he was pushing into you, slowly, until he bottomed out, his hips settling against yours. You relished in the sting, the burn of being stretched around his substantial girth, and sighed against his lips.

You raised your legs and spread them as wide as you could, the two of you grunting in approval when he sank deeper yet. His lips curled in a snarl as he fought to control himself. Every muscle was taut, straining to remain still, to give you time to adjust. With his eyes clamped shut, a hand caressed your hip before sliding under your back and up to your shoulder, squeezing the muscle hard enough that the both of you knew you’d be wearing his mark for days to come.

You drug your nails through his hair and pulsed around his cock. His eyes flew open and he stared at you with lust-blown pupils. Clint rolled his body, barely able to keep from moaning your name loudly. Smirking, you held a finger to your lips briefly before kissing him, giving his cock another squeeze.

Any self-control he might have still possessed shattered and, with a feral moan, he pulled almost completely out, driving himself home, filling the room with a thick, wet slap of his balls on your ass. Long fingers dug deep into your shoulder as he used your own body for leverage, his thrusts growing stronger and more powerful. 

If you were going to wear his mark, he’d be wearing yours. You clawed at his slick back, leaving a trail of angry red welts, and grabbed his ass, pulling him into you harder and faster. You were both moaning and grunting with each thrust of his hips, your own snapping up, meeting him halfway.

The all too familiar pressure of your orgasm started to grow, rising up and flowing out like lava, searing everything it touched. “Fuuuuuck,” you ground out.

His shoulders were bowing, stretching his skin taut, the thick muscles below flexing and jumping with every flex and thrust. His knees spread wide, pushing his thighs into your own, spreading you open like a goddamn buffet. He was pounding into you relentlessly, the bed springs squeaking loudly in protest.

“I need you to cum, baby. Please,” he begged, his voice completely shattered.

It was the please that did it. You came with a strangled cry of his name, pulsing around him, shuddering under him. His sweat-dampened forehead was on your pillow, face buried in your neck, lips and teeth on your flesh as he came, a muffled version of your name echoing in your ear. His whole body was shaking as his balls drew up and his cock swelled and pulsed. The pair of you grunted as waves of pleasure continued to course through you, squeezing and pulsing sensitive flesh until it hurt, but in a way that you didn’t want to stop.

Only after he started to go soft, did he move. Rolling to the side, he kept his arm around you and pulled you with him, continuing to kiss you languidly long after his cock stopped twitching. You scraped your nails along his scalp as his own fingers carded through your hair.

His eyes were sparkling when you pulled back. “I love you, Mrs. Barton,” he rasped, knuckles grazing under your jaw and chin.

“I love you, too, Mr. Barton,” you sighed happily. 


End file.
